


What else can we do?

by Mckookadoodle



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: As Fleabag does, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Laughter During Sex, Light Angst, Random Jane Eyre reference, You can't tell me they don't joke during the deed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 04:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21470377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mckookadoodle/pseuds/Mckookadoodle
Summary: "We're gonna have sex, aren't we?"I already knew this. I'd straight out told you lot we were going to have sex only seconds ago. I'm not surprised at being right.------------------------A very short piece in which Fleabag and the Priest are the types to joke and laugh during the deed.
Relationships: Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	What else can we do?

**Author's Note:**

> My friend and I were talking about Fleabag (ranting more like) and how sad we were about this freaking couple, and I asserted that they are absolutely that type to laugh during sex. SO I wrote it.
> 
> I've never written fanfic before, please be gentle :)

_"I guess it can't be too often that two people can laugh and make love, too, make love because they are laughing, laugh because they're making love. The love and laughter come from the same place: but not many people go there."_  
James Baldwin, _If Beale Street Could Talk_

\------------------------

"We're gonna have sex, aren't we?"

I already knew this. I'd straight out told you lot we were going to have sex only seconds ago. I'm not surprised at being right.

But hearing the words from him, that resigned tone with more sadness in it than I'd like to admit--it hits differently. What we're about to do is no longer a kinky fantasy I can flash a satisfied smirk to you about, the euphemism behind every, "Yes, Father?" It's exactly what we both want, what we both have now decided to do, but for him it's also a failure. He's about to let down something that means so much to him, and knowing that, I almost hate this rush of joy I feel at his admission. 

I nod. God, should I be this excited?

"Yeah," he says.

"Yeah," I say.

"Okay." His smile is small, and sad, but do you see it, too? That look in his eyes, mixed in with the disappointment. It makes one wonder if it's just the confirmation that we're going to have sex that has made him fall in love with me the way he claimed the actual deed would do.

I can't be the only one seeing this. And he's definitely not the only one in danger of those feelings.

He walks toward me, slowly. Almost prowling. It's very, very hot.

I'm surprised at how cool he acts about the unexpected fact that I'm already undressed for the occasion under my coat. A cool priest, despite his denial of it a few days ago.

He brings his hand to my face, and slowly, finally, kisses me. And wow, I think it might be better than the first time. First kisses are always exciting, particularly when you're, you know, kissing a priest in a confessional. But that kiss, it was like we were stealing something that we both knew we shouldn't steal in a place we definitely shouldn't have been stealing it in. This time, we allow the other to take, laying a claim on each other. And I might have to hand it to all those rom-coms about how much these feelings add to the experience.

So, dear reader, we have sex.

What, you thought I was going to describe it to you? Sorry, this is one steamy scene that you're going to have to keep your noses out of.

Oh, I'll give you a crumb though.

He, in his oh, so sexy bed voice, begins to call out as we move together, giving the Hot Misogynist I sent away a run for his money. I mean, Jesus.

"Oh, God," he says.

_Don't say it_, my brain manages to tell me in the midst of this distracting fog. _Just don't say it._

"Are you sure you want to bring Him into this?" _Damn, you really said that._ This might be one of the problems Harry had with dating me, to be honest.

It takes a second for my priest to process what I said. His movement falters and he collapses a bit on me, not before I catch that exasperated smile he has reserved for all my jokes, and buries his face in my neck. He starts shaking, and I realize that he's laughing. He's laughing, and trying to hide it, and beginning to move again while he struggles to stop laughing. So naturally, I start laughing too. Our joined laughter rises as we do, getting more and more inconsolable in both senses of the word.

Because what else can we do with this eclectic mix of joy and sorrow but laugh and love each other?

God, he's made me sound like a "get well soon" card.


End file.
